Please Forgive Me
by angelfishlex
Summary: Set after 'His Last Vow', so SPOILERS! Sherlock knows that Moriarty is determined to burn the heart out of him and he sees the results of his own blindness and ignorance. Contains character death. ONE-SHOT! Please R&R!


No matter how much he wants to deny it, he knows he is unable to save everyone. Any living idiot with half a brain could put the pieces together.

He is a murderer now, having taken one life to save those he held dear. His once lifeless heart now beat for his friends.

John and Mary Watson along with their little offspring are a unit finally repaired… His family…

Mrs. Hudson is his parental figure of motherly affection, always making certain of his well-being.

Lestrade is the provider of mostly interesting cases and the first one other than his brother to pull him away from the brink of drug abuse and potential overdose.

At some point in his life, all of them had been placed in the path of danger by his enemies, using them as leverage.

His greatest enemy had supposedly risen from the dead, and the first thought that projects within his brilliant mind is that the madman will not be so oblivious this time.

The homicidal psychopath would most likely figure out the one person he had not placed on his mental list of people he cares for, for their intelligent prowess clearly rivaled one another.

All the detective can think of as his heart rate accelerates with fear is one name…

_Molly Hooper…_

The woman he owes his life to, and the one his heart had reluctantly embraced as somebody he desired to cherish as a romantic partner, but knew he could not give her the life she deserved.

.

.

.

.

It is too late, by a mere hour…

Her blood is smeared across the bare white walls of the room as a greeting message to him.

_**Here lies your bleeding heart, Sherlock. **_

He kneels down on his knees of the cold floor of the secluded St. Barts laboratory, clutching the petite young woman close to him.

Her body is lifeless in his hold as he quietly sobbed into her hair, feeling ashamed as he hears John crying by the door not far behind him.

They were both too late to save their beloved friend before the world's consulting criminal got to her first.

Part of him foolishly hopes this was only a nightmare of post traumatic stress. It would have been typical to dream of the one most precious to you being harmed. But, alas, this is real.

The pain clenches his heart, as intense as when he has been internally bleeding after being shot. Then, the memories come as he whispers her name repeatedly in a desperate plea for it to be only a dream.

The cruel comments about her appearance and planned social encounters with potential suitors…

The humiliation he had presented her with at that damned Christmas party an eternity ago…

The night he had come to her for help in fabricating his demise…

The day she had helped him in solving cases during John's absence and the kiss he had given her, the few times he had selected to be tender and understanding with her…

He had promised himself to be there for her and make sure she was out of harm's way, but he had discovered in the most horrific scenario that he could not protect everybody.

His logical mind and lurching heart collide as anger and grief wells up inside him. He knows nothing can bring her back and sobbing his emotions out would not revive her. But he does not care at the moment…

As he holds her gently to him, her blood staining his Belstaff coat, he thinks of the words he had wanted to say to her had his life not gone to hell in the past few months.

_Molly, forgive me for all that I have said to hurt or discourage you. You mean more to me now than I have ever realized. _

He feels John's hand grip his shoulder in a comforting manner, but still giving him room to cradle the woman he…loved?

Yes, had finally found out that he placed her in such high regard because he wanted to be the one she could count on. He would be there to protect and care for her, learning all he could to be what she needed.

And he had failed her when she needed him most.

She had given him so much, him providing nothing but condescension and indifference.

He hears John sniffle and feels the squeeze of his hand on his shaking shoulder. The white noise of the room's eerie silence deafens his ears as he gently strokes her cheek with his trembling fingertips.

The childlike portion of his mind hopes she would open her eyes and recognize that she would always be safe in his arms.

But real life was rarely so merciful and charitable…

Her once lively face is devoid of her bright smile and shining eyes of dark mahogany…

She had saved his life and he would now give his up without hesitation if it meant she would remain alive and preserved from danger. His brother's words of "wisdom" could go to hell.

However, there is nothing to be done. He has to focus now on stopping the nightmare plaguing England instead of drowning in misery. It is what she would have wanted.

The siren of Lestrade's police car pierces the air as the detective places a kiss on her forehead, silently begging her to forgive him for all he had done to distress her.

He carefully lifts her into his arms, positioning her head to rest on his shoulder as he hears John leave the room to give them a minute of privacy. She is carried to an empty table and placed upon its surface with as much gentleness as possible, taking care that her body is resting comfortably where he has laid her.

Molly's still form is covered with a white sheet up to her chin, with near reverence as if he were only providing her with a blanket to shield her from a chill.

The tears finally flow down his face and he brushes a strand of brunette hair out of her face, the pain of losing her threatening to consume his senses.

"Molly, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me…for everything." His normally confident voice breaks as he finally speaks aloud to her.

He knows he cannot hold this bizarre vigil any longer before the others arrive. He has to give her this final parting gesture.

He leans down and presses his lips to hers, feeling the freeze of approaching rigor mortis upon him. This final kiss he has given her out of love, however miserable it feels now to him.

His voice manages to choke out the word "goodbye" as he turns away from her motionless form and the wipes away the tears to put on the façade of stoicism.

He would destroy _**him**_ in her name, for there is nothing more dangerous than the rage of a man in love, regardless of what others may deduce about his heart.


End file.
